A Twist of Fate
by Aliana
Summary: Fate deals Starbuck what could be a losing hand.


A Twist of Fate  
Written in 1980, or so, at the age of 16. All inconsistencies and illogical ideas can be blamed on youth, then!  
  
Lieutenant Starbuck impatiently jumped the last half metron as the hanger bay lift whined down. Lieutenant Boomer, waiting until it had reached the bottom, gave his friend a quizzical look and asked, "What's your hurry? It's just a routine patrol."  
  
Starbuck stopped to look back at his friend. "Yeah, but the sooner we get out of here, the sooner we'll get back!"  
  
"So, tell me, what have you got planned for after the patrol?"  
  
Starbuck climbed the rungs of his ship up to his cockpit. "Well," he shouted over the shoulder of his viper crewman, "we *are* getting a day's furlong, and Cassie and I got passes for the _Rising Star_. . ."  
  
Boomer grinned back, shaking his head. "Say no more, Bucko."  
  
Starbuck lowered himself into the familiar seat, taking his helmet from the crewman with a smile and a nod. Placing the helmet over his head and adjusting the intercom, he watched the canopy lower slowly and seal itself with a pop. As the lieutenant flipped through the switches and punched the buttons on his panel, the engines whined to life. Starbuck nestled back into the seat, feeling the increasing power and anticipating the exhilarating rush that came with each launch, and the thrill of flying, that made even routine patrols a little bit exciting. He took a deep breath as the familiar voice of Rigel came over the intercom, "Galactica transferring control to patrol craft. You may launch when ready."  
  
"Be my guest," came Boomer's voice in his ear as Starbuck prepared to push the button marked "turbo" on his joystick. An instant before his thumb made contact, however, a massive explosion ripped through the front of his viper with a brilliant flash, bursting through the control console in a violent barrage of sparks and metal. The force of the explosion slammed the lieutenant back into his seat with twice the power of a normal launch. Starbuck screamed and was just barely able to throw his arms up to shield his face from most of the flying debris.  
  
Boomer, seeing the explosion and hearing the terrified scream over the intercom, released his canopy and leaped from his viper the moment it had opened wide enough. Already, the emergency crews were spraying down the burning viper with foam and prying up the canopy, which had cracked its seal with the force of the explosion. A cloud of black smoke billowed out of the cockpit. Boomer stopped, his heart pounding against his chest, just short of the viper and watched as two crewmen, ignoring the thick smoke and fumes, reached into the cockpit to pull out the limp form of Lieutenant Starbuck. Gently but quickly, two more crewmen eased the pilot down and lay him on the deck near the lift, away from the ship, as the firefighters sprayed the inside of the cockpit. The fires had died down to thin, hissing streams of smoke, and the air was clearing.   
  
Above the wailing of the emergency klaxon, Boomer heard the lift and looked up to see the medical team arriving, along with Captain Apollo and Commander Adama. All three watched silently as the med techs knelt beside the still form. Carefully, one removed the lieutenant's scorched helmet and eased his head onto a supporting brace. Using a hand-held scanner, he checked the pilot's vital signs, both electronically and manually, feeling for a pulse with one hand and operating the device with the other.  
  
"Pulse weak but steady," the med tech said for everyone to hear. "Respiration shallow but regular. Scanner shows no broken bones, but there is some internal damage. Let's get him to the Lifestation!"   
  
******   
"Well?" Apollo, Boomer, and the commander looked expectantly at Dr. Salik as he approached the officers. Behind him was Cassiopeia, looking tired and unhappy. "How is he?" Adama asked quietly.  
  
Salik smiled faintly and briefly. "He should be all right, for the most part, in about a secton. We used laser scans to repair most of the damage to his internal organs, and we treated the burns on his arms, torso, and legs. Mainly, he was saved by his helmet and pressure suit. For now, he needs to rest while his own body heals the rest of the bruising and internal injuries."  
  
Boomer gazed past the doctor and Cassiopeia to where Starbuck lay on the biobed. He was covered nearly completely with what Boomer knew were rapid-heal bandages, specially treated wraps that accelerated the healing and growth of skin tissue; in a matter of days, the burns, some severe, that had covered the lieutenant's arms, body, and legs would be completely healed. One detail, however, puzzled, Boomer.  
  
"Uh, Doctor?" he said, turning his attention back to Salik.  
  
"Yes, Lieutenant?"  
  
"What about those bandages over his eyes?"  
  
Cassiopeia closed her own eyes as Salik spoke. "That's the bad news. Apparently the flash of the explosion seared his optical nerves. We were able to repair the retina and the cornea, but . . ."  
  
"What are you saying, Doctor?" asked Apollo, feeling a growing apprehension.  
  
"Our only option for the nerves was an experimental procedure where we inject special enzymes and chemicals to stimulate growth in the nerve cells. It's possible that the optic nerves can regenerate completely, but there are no guarantees."  
  
Adama frowned. "What are his chances, then, of regaining his vision?"  
  
Salik sighed. "He has a 90% chance of regaining partial vision. As for regaining total, unimpaired vision, the chances are about 40%"  
Boomer whistled softly; Apollo and the commander said nothing for a moment. Finally, Adama asked, "Does Starbuck know this?"  
  
Cassie answered quietly, "No. He was unconscious when they brought him in, and we have him sedated right now. We'll wake him in about 50 centars."  
  
Apollo gazed at his still friend. "When will you know how successful the treatment was?"  
  
"Well, we will remove the bandages in twelve days and examine the nerves," Salik answered. "We should be able to tell then."  
  
Boomer muttered, mostly to himself, "That's a lot of waiting. At least, Starbuck will be spared some of it."  
  
Salik grunted. "Yes, but I don't look forward to telling him when we do wake him up."  
  
Adama let out a slow, long breath. "Well, there's not much we can do except pray. We'd better get back to our duties. I want to know what caused that explosion. Until we know, I'm grounding all vipers."  
  
The sound of opening doors caught everyone's attention, and they turned to see Colonel Tigh walking briskly towards them, his face grim. "Commander," he said, "we just discovered the cause of the explosion."  
  
"Yes, Colonel," Adama said. Everyone was silent, waiting.  
  
"Sir, it was sabotage -- An explosive device planted in the ship's nose and wired to the control panel. When Starbuck started powering up the engines, it triggered the explosive."  
  
"Lords of Kobol," was all Adama said.  
  
******  
Cassiopeia clasped Starbuck's limp hand, rubbing it gently with two fingers. Most of the bandages had been removed, revealing healthy, new, pink skin in splotches that would disappear as the hair grew back and the outer epidermis was exposed to the air. Only his eyes were still covered by a white, form-fitting bandage that effectively blocked out all light. Cassie glanced at her chronometer. It was time. Using a hypogun, she injected a stimulant into his shoulder and sat back down to wait. Boomer, Apollo, and Adama stood silently at the foot of his bed. Dr. Salik stood across from Cassie, studying his patient with an impassive look, waiting.  
  
Starbuck took a slow sip of ambrosa, eyes closed, feeling the gentle breeze, hearing it rustle through the trees. He was on Caprica. He and Cassiopeia were alone in a quiet wooded area near the city of Talgon, but where was Cassie? She was no longer next to him, and he scrambled to his feet to look for her, walking slowly along the trail in the woods. Then he heard her voice, in the distance, calling his name. As he walked faster, her voice grew louder, more distinct. She must be behind that bluff of trees, he thought, following the trail with his eyes as it curved out of sight to the right. Walking quickly now, he rounded the bend - and came face to face with a Cylon centurion. He froze, staring at the red light pulsing back and forth, listening to Cassie's voice emanating clearly from his enemy. With lightening-quick reflexes, he grabbed for his laser pistol, but his holster was empty. Very slowly, the Cylon lifted his own weapon, aiming at the lieutenant's heart. Starbuck could not move, only watch, as the Cylon pulled the trigger. The world exploded into a deep blackness, a seeming nothingness.  
  
"Starbuck?" Cassiopeia's voice was soft and close.  
  
"Cassie . . .?" The word was a breath, barely a whisper.  
  
Starbuck felt a firm pressure on his right hand, but all of his muscles were still held immobile by the dream and the sedative He felt like he was drifting, numb, dreaming again. Then he heard her voice again.  
  
"Starbuck, you're awake. Do you remember the explosion?"  
  
Explosion? Explosion? Then, gradually, he remembered. The patrol. Engines firing up, and then the world exploding. He tried to move, to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse groan.  
  
Cassie squeezed his hand again, tightly. "Starbuck, you're in the Lifestation. You're okay. Don't try to move yet. You can't move because we gave you a sedative. It will wear off real soon."  
  
Starbuck felt his head spinning in confusion. "I'm dreaming. I can't wake up," he managed to mumble.  
  
"No, no," said Cassie softly. "You're awake." She squeezed his arm, massaging the muscles to rid them of the effects of the sedative. The motion brought a faint smile to his lips. Cassie continued, "In the explosion, you're eyes were damaged. You can't open them because we've got them bandaged."  
  
The smile vanished, and with a concentrated effort that made him grimace, Starbuck managed to overcome the sedative's sluggishness, gripping Cassie's hand. After a few more centons, he was able to sit up. Probing the soft, smooth bandages with both hands, he asked, "What's going on?"  
  
Instead, Cassie asked, "How do you feel?"  
  
"Drowzy. Stiff. And I've got one hell of a headache."  
  
"That's to be expected," Dr. Salik said, speaking for the first time. Starbuck turned in his direction, questioningly, fingers still probing the wrap. "Lieutenant, you were badly injured by the explosion. You've been sedated for the past 50 centars while your body heals."  
  
"Hmm." Starbuck indicated the bandages. "And this?"  
  
Salik glanced at Cassiopeia and the observers. "Well, your eyes were badly burned by the explosion, and they are still healing. You'll have to wear the bandages for ten more days."  
  
Starbuck sensed the doctor's uneasiness and felt a cold knot in the pit of his stomach. "And then what, Doctor? I'll be able to see, won't I?"  
  
"Lieutenant," Salik answered slowly, "we can't be sure. We did what we could, but we can't give you any guarantees."  
  
The coldness crept into his throat. "So what are the chances, Doctor?" he asked.  
  
"About 43% for total recovery," he said evenly.  
  
"Oh." It was barely a whisper.   
  
Boomer walked over beside Cassie. "Hey, Bucko."  
  
"Boomer?" Who else is here?" The hard knot in his stomach threatened to unleash a wave of panic. He struggled to stay calm.  
  
"The commander and me," Apollo said.  
  
"Listen," Boomer said, clasping Starbuck on the shoulder, "don't worry. With the 'Starbuck luck' you'll be as good as new in no time!"  
  
Starbuck tried to smile but failed. "Yeah. My kind of odds," he said weakly. "So . . . what happened?"  
  
Apollo told him what they knew. At the word sabotage, Starbuck's jaw dropped and he shook his head slowly, in disbelief. "By the Lords of Kobol, why?" He felt an intense anger building and took several deep breaths to control it.  
  
"We don't know," Apollo said. "Boomer and I ran a computer analysis to list everyone who could have had access to the launch bay and also have the knowledge to construct a bomb like that. The computer gave us a list of 97 names. We're now trying to narrow that list down."  
  
Starbuck said nothing, unable to decide just how he felt. Finally, he asked, "Uh, Doctor? When can I at least get out of bed?"  
  
"Well," Salik considered it for a moment. "I'd like you to stay here for at least one more day, so you can rest and we can do a few more tests to be sure that everything is healing properly."  
  
Adama, noting a look from Salik, said, "Apollo, Boomer, we had better let the lieutenant rest for now. Starbuck," the commander clasped a hand on his shoulder, "I have a feeling that everything will be fine, and . . . you know that everyone is behind you."  
  
"Commander, thank you," Starbuck said. He listened as his friends said goodbye and as their footsteps faded. He felt numb, helpless in a way he had never before felt. In this darkened world, he felt vulnerable and isolated. His emotions were so scrambled, chaotic; one moment he felt despair, then rage, then hope. He was used to being in control. He wanted to scream, to run, to strike out, to cry. As all of these sensations crashed about, he leaned back against the supporting pillows, breathing deeply and slowly, and gripped the sheets in both hands, clenching his fists tightly and squeezing until blood stained the silver material as fingernails dug into palms. He was oblivious to the pain.  
  
When Cassie moved to stop him, Dr. Salik held her back with a hand on her shoulder. "Let him be," he whispered. "he's got to release the tension somehow. He has to deal with this and come to terms with it. Just keep an eye on him."  
  
*****  
"How about a real meal?" Cassie sat down on the edge of the bed and set a tray across Starbuck's lap. He didn't move. Cassie continued, "Considering that it's been over 60 centars since you had any real, solid food -"  
  
"I'm not hungry." His voice was low and even.  
  
"As your med tech, I'm going to insist. You need to build back your strength." Cassie gently pulled Starbuck's right hand out from under the sheets and a placed a protein cube in his palm. "You need to eat a little, at least."  
  
He still did not move. "Why?" he said curtly. "What's the point?" He let out a long, slow breath. "Cassie, I - I can't live like this. I can't stand to be . . . to be --. The idea that I may never . . . may not see again . . ." He fumbled for the words, afraid to think them, let alone say them.  
  
"Starbuck!" Cassiopeia gripped his hand tightly. "listen, you're acting like there's no hope at all, but that's not true. There's every chance that you'll be as good as new when those bandages come off. Where's the optimist I know?"  
  
"If I . . ." Starbuck swallowed. "If I let myself think everything's going to be okay, and then I . . . Cassie, I just can't . . . deal with it -"  
  
"Starbuck, I love you," Cassiopeia said softly, squeezing his hand again. "Nothing can change that. And until we know for sure, nine days from now, you need to do everything possible to aid your recovery. Nutrition is probably your single-most best defense right now."  
  
The lieutenant sighed. "All right, all right." He put the protein cube in his mouth, chewing without tasting, and let Cassie guide his hand over the food tray to indicate where the proteins, carbonutrients, and drink were. With a forced calmness, he ate the food.   
  
Once finished, he asked, "May I please be allowed to get out of bed? I'm going stir crazy!"  
  
Cassie smiled. "Of course! And the doctor said that you're being released in a couple of centars."  
  
*****  
At least, it gave him something to concentrate on, Starbuck mused. It was a challenge to walk the corridors he knew so well and not feel lost. He could hear Cassiopeia following quietly a few paces behind him and felt a mixture of relief and resentment. When the doors to the bridge whooshed open, Starbuck took two steps forward, then froze, stopping so suddenly that Cassie bumped into him. The buzz of voices and activity, so familiar, seemed totally alien in the dark. He suddenly wanted to turn and run. With a gentle push, Cassie urged him forward. As he took several hesitant steps, he heard some familiar voices.  
  
"Starbuck! It's good to see you up," the commander said.  
  
Then Apollo's voice. "Hey, Starbuck! Welcome back!"  
  
The impulse to turn and escape, escape the eyes he could feel staring at him as the bridge became quiet, gripped him. Cassie, however, stood firmly in his path and urged him forward with both hands on his shoulders. "Yeah, hi," he mumbled.  
  
Apollo had leaped down from the command center, and before his friend could object, pulled him back up, easing him into a chair near the main computer console. "Apollo!" Starbuck finally said, "What are you doing?"  
  
"I want you to listen to something. We think we've narrowed the list of possible suspects down to 42. Listen to the computer report and see if anything strikes you. If any names are familiar or there's any bit of data that you think might be important."  
  
With surprising accuracy, Starbuck reached out and grabbed Apollo's hand before he could start the program. "Hold on," he said, "Do you think the saboteur was after me personally?" He turn questioningly towards the captain.  
  
"We're not sure," Apollo answered. "We don't think so, since the selection of vipers used is more or less random, but then, it was no big secret about who pulled what patrol. This is one way to, maybe, rule out that possibility."  
  
Starbuck sighed and released the captain's hand. Apollo typed in a command to the computer, and a mechanized voice began reciting the names, descriptions, and other pertinent information about the 42 possible suspects. The program took nearly a centar to complete. By the end, Starbuck was shaking his head. "Only one name sounded familiar," he said. "Thals. I remember there being a Thals my second yahren at the Academy. We were in the same quarters, I think. I didn't know him - we weren't friends or enemies. But I do remember that he was expelled for something. I don't remember what for."  
  
"That doesn't really give us anything more to go by," Adama's voice said, so close that it made Starbuck jump slightly. "Lieutenant?"  
  
"Uh, yes, Sir?"  
  
"Lieutenant, I want you and Boomer to see if you can check out the whereabouts of these people five days ago - between 0800 centars that day and 1400 the next. The time of your ill-fated patrol. We figure the bomb must have been planted in that time frame, because that viper was completly serviced five days ago at 0600."  
  
Starbuck closed his gaping mouth. "Commander! That'll take a yahren to check out all 42 people!"  
  
Adama's voice was stern. "Lieutenant, I realize that it will be tedious, but it's all we have got to go with. We have no other leads. It's either this or give up. Besides, since you were officially released from the Lifestation today, that means you're back on duty. We need you to do this. And I won't have you just moping around."  
  
"Yes, Sir," Starbuck said, feeling chastised. He knew the commander was trying to encourage him, to make him feel useful and to take his mind off his uncertain future. Maybe it was what he needed. Doing nothing had certainly not helped to lift his spirits.  
  
*****  
As it turned out, the task took one day to complete, using the personnel computer that listed work and rest periods, movements between ships, and could identify if anyone had been picked up by a monitor at any point in the time frame. The end result was a narrowing of the list from 42 to 27 possible suspects.  
  
Walking slowly back from the computer center on level 3 to the turbolift, both Boomer and Starbuck felt exhausted. Running the 42 searches had, indeed, been tedious, but perhaps they were making progress. As Boomer stopped at the lift, Starbuck suddenly felt a need to just think and be alone, away from computers and away from anyone's concerned, watchful eyes. "Boomer," he said, "go on back without me. I'd like a little time alone to . . . I don't know . . . just think about things."  
  
His friend tried to sound upbeat. "Hey, what's to think about?" You'll be fine in seven days. I have complete faith in that luck of yours."  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm not so sure. Realistically, I've got to think about my options if . . . you know, I can't see well enough to fly. I mean, face it, I can't continue in the service, unless I want to spend my time doing routine computer checks and boring desk jobs."  
  
"But why worry about it now? You sound like you're giving up, and that's not like you." The lift door had opened, but Boomer stood holding it with his hand. "Besides, you can't just wander around down here -"  
  
"Oh, and why not?" Starbuck felt a stab of anger. "I'm tired of being escorted around like a child! Look, I know this ship; I'm not going to get lost. I'll be back in a centar or so." Without waiting for a response, Starbuck turned and strolled off angrily in the opposite direction.  
  
Boomer sighed with resignation and stepped into the lift, watching as Starbuck rounded the corner as the door slid shut.  
  
*****  
"You did what?" Cassiopeia dropped the small scanner and turned to glare at Boomer.  
  
"I left him down on level 3."  
  
"Boomer!"  
  
"Cassie, he's a big boy. He can find his way around."  
  
"I know," she sighed. "I just worry about him, but I know he needs his space. However, it's easy to get turned around in this ship, even if you can see . . ."  
  
Boomer smiled. "If he's not back in two centars, we'll send out a search party."  
  
*******  
Starbuck had walked for nearly 30 centons, wandering aimlessly, using his right hand as a guide along the wall. He had let his mind drift as his feet moved mechanically. Through his thoughts, flashed first the memories of the innumerable flights he had taken, then all the battles fought and won or lost, all the routine patrols. He had confronted the Cylons so many times, even face to face. The possibility that he might never be able to fly again was devastating. Might as well cut off my legs, too, he thought darkly. Flying was so much a part of him . . .   
  
And now it all came down to this. Grounded by the actions of one of his own race, not even in space but sitting in the launch tube. The irony of it stabbed like a cold knife through his insides. He walked faster and faster. Stumbling. Not caring. Taking the lift down several more levels, he broke into a run as the door opened and he crossed the threshold. He stopped only when he finally crashed into a wall, almost tumbling to the floor but managing to regain his equilibrium. For several moments, he stood and hammered the wall with his fists until, bruised, the pain made him stop. Drained, he sank to the floor and sat motionless, head in hands, sobbing quietly in deep breaths.  
  
He had been a warrior forever, it seemed. The service was truly his life and his family. He didn't know how to do anything else. "I am a survivor," he whispered finally, some of the despair having washed away. "There is still hope. Come, on, Bucko! How many times have you beaten the odds? What makes you think you won't do it this time?" Starbuck pulled himself to his feet, feeling stronger, better than he had in several days.  
  
And suddenly he realized that he had no idea where he was. "Oh, frak!" he said, trying to remember which way it was to the turbolift, but he was too disoriented to know. He had no idea how many turns he had made before he had collided with the wall. Sighing in resignation, he picked a direction at random and began walking, slowly, carefully, this time, running both hands along the wall in search of the lift door. He was more amused than concerned about being lost. He reasoned that if he had not found the lift door in about then next 20 centons, he would use one of the many intercom panels that were spaced at regular intervals right at shoulder level for him. Easy to find. He'd then contact the bridge and admit his predicament.   
  
After about ten centons, Starbuck knew that he had gone the wrong way, and was about to turn around when he heard voices. He stopped, listening, because until now, this level had seemed deserted. Inching forward, his fingers found the edge of a doorway, and he again stopped to listen.  
  
"Do you have the charges?" a voice asked.  
  
"Right here," answered a different voice, a voice that had a distant ring of familiarity to it.  
  
"Good," said the first voice. "Let's get this taken care of and get out of here. Drizer should be here with that timer any moment now."  
  
Starbuck felt his heart skip a beat. He knew exactly what he was hearing and knew that he had to get away from there and warn the commander. Not even breathing, he moved backwards. He had gone about ten silent paces, estimating that he was nearly back to the last intersection in the corridor, when he stopped. Nothing, all was silent. But he needed to be further away before he risked using one of the intercom panels. He moved on, listening intently for any sounds but walking as quickly as he could. He found the intersection and turned to the left.  
  
Still, he was caught completely off guard when two arms suddenly seized him from behind, and a voice said loudly, "What do you think you're doing?"  
  
With a combination of skill and strength heighten by adrenaline, Starbuck ripped loose from the man, shoving him away, and ran as fast as he could, stumbling, fighting the vertigo as he felt a rising sensation of disorientation and panic. A jumble of voices told him that at least two of the men were behind him, not far. Breathing deeply, he tried to concentrate on keeping his balance and as he ran, literally blind, with his hand streaking along the wall. As he stumbled around another turn, he finally felt his hand brush against the intercom panel. He stopped, gasping, and regained his footing, fumbling for the right button. The voices and pounding feet were close. Too close. He had only a few microns left.  
  
Pushing the intercom button, he yelled between gasps, "Emergency! A bomb! Level -" he did not know what level, but it did not matter. The computer would show his location. "Repeat, a bomb -"  
  
The pounding of feet swelled around him as his pursuers reached him. He pressed his back to the wall, hands held out in a position of surrender. Two pairs of hands grabbed him and yanked him forward, knocking him to his knees. With force made brutal by anger, his arm was twisted behind his back, and he was pulled back to his feet.  
  
A voice, blowing hot air, close to his ear, said, "We don't have much time. We've got to get him back to the store room!"  
  
However, a micron later, warning sirens erupted. "Frak!" a different voice said. "He called the bridge! We've got to get out of here now!"  
  
"Wait!" yelled the man gripping the lieutenant's arm. "What about him?"  
  
"Look at him - he's blind! He doesn't know who we are. Let's just go!"  
  
"No." It was a growl. Ominous, lacking a certain rational quality. The man shifted his grip.  
  
"Are you crazy?" the other screamed at him. "There isn't time! Security will be coming any moment now! I'm going!"  
  
Starbuck felt the man's right arm moving, so he twisted suddenly to his left, ripping his own arm from the other's grasp with the unexpected movement. At that same instant, he felt the hardness of a knife blade brush against him, snagging his sleeve but doing no damage. The action knocked Starbuck off balance, however, and he tumbled to the floor, twisting to land on his back. From above him came a satisfied, chilling laugh.   
  
Not waiting for the final blow, the lieutenant kicked out wildly with his feet and managed to connect with his attacker's knee. The man cursed as he fell across Starbuck's legs. The knife clattered across the floor, very near. Starbuck grabbed in its direction. He caught it firmly -- by the blade, however. Laughing again, the man tore it from his grasp before he could let go. A searing pain shot up his arm and through his body as the razor sharp blade sliced through his palm and hand, as though they were water. Starbuck gasped and pressed the wounded hand against his chest. The warmth from the blood quickly soaked through his shirt.  
"Die!" the man said in barely a whisper, furious, and Starbuck could sense the knife being drawn back, ready to be plunged down. Beneath the bandages, he clenched his eyes tightly shut, in too much pain to move or resist. Almost subconsciously, Starbuck heard the sound of a laser firing. The man grunted and collapsed in a still heap on top of him. The knife clattered across the floor again. An instant later, a wonderfully familiar voice broke the brief silence.  
  
"Starbuck! Are you okay?"  
  
"I'm great," he answered through clenched teeth.  
  
The weight of his assailant was lifted from him by someone, and Apollo knelt down next to his friend. "Starbuck, is there a bomb?"  
  
"I don't know for sure. . . there may be." He concentrated, trying to remember which way he had come from. "That way," he pointed. "To the left, then to the right. A storage room a ways down the corridor."  
  
Apollo sprinted off before Starbuck could urge him to be cautious. Still pressing his throbbing hand against his chest, he pulled himself to a sitting position, feeling slightly dizzy. Listening, he could hear the distant murmur of voices and then the clomping of boots against the metal floor, disappearing in the direction of the storage room, he supposed.  
  
Then he heard a whir and a thump, followed by the hissing of a door, in the opposite direction, not far from where he sat, leaning against the cold wall. The lift, he thought. The damn turbolift. I'm practically in front of it. He cursed to himself silently for a moment.  
  
From the lift, he heard the rustle of bodies and the sound of footfalls moving towards him. "Starbuck!" Cassie's voice was filled with anxiety.  
  
Smiling weakly, he said, "Hi, I . . . uh, seemed to have gotten lost."  
  
"You're incredible!" She sounded angry this time. Gently, she pulled his hand out to examine it. What she saw made her gasp, "Good Lord! How did this happen?"  
  
"Well . . ." Starbuck described his recent misadventure as Cassie treated the wound as best she could with the emergency medkit. Sealing and repairing the long, jagged, deep gashes on his palm and fingers would have to be done in the Lifestation. For now, she cleaned the hand, disinfected it, and wrapped it with a pressure bandage to stop the bleeding. As she was finishing, the lieutenant heard the others returning. "Apollo . . .?" he queried.  
  
"Yeah, it's me," he answered. "We found the bomb - but it wasn't activated yet, thank God. If it had blown, there were enough explosives to take out several levels, possibly even the main engines. It would have stopped us dead in space."  
  
******  
He was back in the Lifestation again, sitting propped up in a bed, cradling his freshly bandaged hand, and explaining to Apollo, Boomer, the commander, Colonel Tigh, and several security officers what exactly had happened - a formal debriefing. The only information that he had left out was how he had gotten lost in the first place, choosing to say that he had been "lost in thought," not out of control, when he had ended up on the lower level.  
  
"You're sure there were three people involved?" Adama asked finally.  
  
"Yes. I heard two different voices in the storage room, then the man who grabbed me from behind. The one who attacked me. Do you know who he is yet? Has he told you who his accomplices are?"  
  
"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Adama said slowly. "The security officer who shot him didn't have time to set his laser to 'stun.' Unless you can identify them, we still have no idea who the other two involved are. The dead man was named Drizer. He was a mechanics technician."  
  
As the others remained silent, waiting for him to give a response, apparently, Starbuck briefly felt a sense of isolation, not being able to read their expressions to know what any of them might be thinking - or expecting. He shook the feeling off, however, as he concentrated on the name, "Drizer," and the other two voices. "He was on our list," the lieutenant said eventually. Something else was nagging at the back of his mind . . . "I think - wait!" Starbuck sat forward, smacking the bed with his good hand. "One of the others was Thals. His voice sounded vaguely familiar, and he's the only one on the list that I knew."  
  
"How sure are you?" asked Apollo.  
  
"I don't know. It's been a long time since the Academy. Call it a hunch, then. A feeling."  
  
"Well, since he is listed as a potential suspect," Adama stated, "we can at least check it out. We have nothing else to go on, at this point. Reese, get a security detail and locate Thals."   
  
Starbuck felt a hand on his shoulder, and Adama's voice took on a different tone as he continued, sounding more like a father than a superior officer. "Lieutenant, I don't know whether to call you incredibly lucky, or unlucky. You quite possibly may have solved our saboteur mystery by nearly getting yourself killed - twice."  
  
"Well, Sir . . ." Starbuck was not sure how to respond.  
  
"It was foolish of you to wander off like that," Adama chided. "However, I suppose that one does not normally expect to encounter murders and saboteurs in the Galactica's lower levels. Still, I recommend that you stay with an escort until your bandages are removed. It'll be safer."  
  
"Yes, Sir," Starbuck answered quietly.  
  
**********  
Several centars later, Starbuck and his "escort," Cassiopeia, entered the commander's conference room. As they crossed the threshold, Adama indicated two seats, and as Cassie guided the lieutenant to them, he said, "We located Thals and have been questioning him for the last centar. He insists that he knows nothing. So, in a moment, we're going to bring in 5 men; each will say the same thing. If you can positively identify Thals, then we should be able to get a full confession, if he's guilty. But you must be absolutely sure for it to hold up as evidence at a tribunal."  
  
"Understood," Starbuck said calmly.  
  
A moment later, the door opened, and he heard the clicking sound of numerous feet against the metal floor. Once the door had hissed closed again, Adama said, "All right, Number One, you know what to say."  
  
A few microns later, from the lieutenant's left, came a voice: "My name is Thals, and I'm an engineering technician."  
  
Starbuck shook his head. "Not even close." Number Two said the same sentence, and then the other three. When they had finished, he said, "Let me hear Three and Five again, please."  
  
Each man spoke. Starbuck was silent for a moment, considering, remembering the voice he had heard earlier. Finally, he said, "It's number Three. I'm sure."  
  
"Are you positive?" asked Adama.  
  
"Absolutely. I'm going to remember all of those voice for quite some time."  
  
"Let the record show," Adama said, "that Lieutenant Starbuck correctly identified technician Thals." Starbuck could picture the commander, looking solemn and radiating authority, nodding towards the line up. "You four may go, and thank you for your assistance." The commander's voice took on a deliberate, slow tone. Meant for effect, partly, Starbuck was sure. "Security, put the shackles on Thals and detain him for further questioning. I'll have the formal charges of sabotage, attempted sabotage, and attempted termination issued within the next centar -"  
  
"Wait!"   
"Thals, you should remain quiet until you have time to speak with a protector."  
  
"Blast the protector!" The man's voice was saturated with fear, heightened by the commander's slow, cold tone. "I wasn't trying to kill anyone!"  
  
"Everything you say is on the record, I must warn you. You don't have to say anything until you speak with your protector."  
  
It was evident that Thals had not even heard Adama's last statements. Starbuck wished he could see the man's face as the full weight of his actions seemed to overwhelm him. His words came rapidly. "It was Drizer. Drizer. He planted the bomb in the viper. It wasn't supposed to hurt anyone, just disable the ship before it launched."  
  
"Who else was with you?" the commander sounded curt, angry, taking full advantage of the man's terror.  
  
"Norris. Technician Norris."  
  
The sound of the door opening and a shuffling of bodies indicated that several security officers were off to find this Norris. The commander continued, "Who else?"  
  
"No one. No one. Just the three of us. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. It was Drizer. I didn't know how crazy he was before -"  
  
"How convenient to blame the one man who's dead."  
  
"I'm telling the truth! We only meant to stop the Fleet! To make us *have* to find a planet to settle on. I can't stand being trapped in space!"  
  
Desperation had led to desperate acts, it appeared. Starbuck listen to the exchange with a jumble of emotions, all intense. Anger, yet sympathy. Pity and disgust. Rage, sadness. Cassie must have sensed his growing disquietude, for she placed a hand on his shoulder, gripping lightly, offering support.   
  
The commander pressed on. "And what if there were no inhabitable planets? What Then? We happened to be sectons away from the last known inhabitable planet."  
  
"I - I just assumed -" Thals stuttered, rattled.  
  
"And why put a bomb in a viper?"  
  
"As a test. A warning. It wasn't supposed to hurt anyone!"   
  
"How could you not know that a bomb in a viper had the potential to kill?" Adama spoke each word slowly, with deliberate emphasis.  
  
"Drizer assured us that it wouldn't hurt the pilot, just, just . . ." Starbuck could sense the man staring at him. "cause some minor damage."  
  
It was more than he could stand. "Minor damage?" The lieutenant stood abruptly, despite Cassie trying to pull him back down. "Does this look like 'minor damage' to you?" he shouted, pointing to the bandages over his eyes. Only Cassie's strong grip on his arms kept him from taking a step forward.   
  
"Lieutenant, please." Adama's voice was softer but insistent.  
  
Starbuck fought the urge to say or do anything else, breathing in deep, quick gasps. He was too agitated to sit, however. Cassie was whispering in his ear, he finally realized, telling him to calm down . . . the anger subsided. He became aware that Adama was speaking again, too, and he forced himself to listen.  
  
" . . . enough for now," the commander was saying. "Take him to the brig."  
  
The shuffling of feet, moving bodies, the door closing. Silence. A cold, desolate silence, it felt like, as Starbuck sank back into his seat. Someone pulled a chair to the other side of him. He felt a firm, warm hand on his arm. "Starbuck, I'm sorry I put you through that," Adama said softly, apologetically. "But I think the impression you made on Thals will assure full cooperation and a complete, truthful confession."  
  
It took a moment for the lieutenant to realize that his reaction had been exactly what Adama had wanted, knowing his officer's passionate nature. Instead of being angry, Starbuck laughed. "Oh, Lords . . ."  
A touch of relief was evident in Adama's words. "If you had been able to see Thals expression as you tried to come at him, you'd know that you had him terrified. Call it a bit of justice, then."  
  
"Yeah . . . "  
  
"Starbuck," Adama said, definitely sounding paternal now, "you've had a long day. I suggest you get some rest and take it easy for the next day or so. The tribunal will be held in a couple of days, and your testimony will be very important, even if the two suspects plead guilty."  
  
"Won't you need me to identify, so to speak, the other, Norris?"  
  
"No, we'll let Thals do that. I think we can count on his cooperation. Now, go get some rest."   
  
********  
With one arm wrapped around Cassie's shoulders, he let her lead him back to Blue Squadron's quarters, stopping just outside the doors. "Well," he said, feeling the exhaustion from the day's events finally catching up with him, "I think I can find my way to my bunk, at least."  
Using his hand as a guide, he kissed her gently on the lips.  
  
"Wait," Cassie said as he started to pull away. "I know how hard this must be on you," she said softly. "No matter what, I love you." She kissed him lightly on the ear.  
  
Starbuck sighed deeply, letting go just briefly. "Cass . . ." he said, pulling her against him with his good hand, feeling the smooth softness of her hair and breathing in the fresh scent, "I'm afraid . . . I mean, terrified. I've never felt this helpless before. Or confused and uncertain. One moment I'm convinced that everything will be just fine in seven days, that everything will be back to normal. . . but then I feel the . . . the overwhelming fear that -"  
  
"Don't say it," Cassie interrupted gently. "I wish I could promise you that everything will be all right, but I can't. Listen," she said, "you did remarkably well today - though, you had me worried for a while!"  
  
"I'm sorry about that. Cass, I got lucky, that's all," he said with a touch of bitterness. "If I had been able to see, I wouldn't have this." He held up his bandaged hand. "I mean, I almost died within arm's reach of the turbolift and I grabbed a knife by the blade."  
  
"Starbuck," Cassie said, shifting to grasp his good hand in hers and squeezing tightly. "I'm convince that had it been anyone else today, they would have been killed. It may have been luck - or misfortune - that got you into that situation, but it was pure skill and instinct that kept you alive. Not luck."   
  
Starbuck said nothing, considering her words, trying hard not to consider the future.  
  
Holding his hand against her chest and embracing him tightly, she closed her eyes, wishing she could do more. "Starbuck," she said gently, "you're strong. And you're not alone. One way or the other, things will work out."  
  
"Yeah," he said finally, "one way or the other . . ."  
  
*********  
"Starbuck, sit still. If you keep fidgeting, I may snip you and not the bandage." Cassie pulled back the scissors for a moment, giving him time to settle, if that were possible.  
  
The preceding seven days had seemed an eternity to him, filled with a lifetime of vacillating emotions. He actually felt more comfortable navigating without his vision, and had become adept at surprising his friends with his ability to interpret and respond to his surroundings.  
  
A little help from Boomer didn't hurt, either, when he had decided to play a joke on his Blue Squadron buddies, to ease the tension he could feel whenever they spoke with him. With a carefully formulated plan of "code sounds," he had actually led Giles, Jolly, and the others to believe that he could beat them at Pyramid - literally blind - as Boomer had stood behind him, interpreting each hand, even strolling a bit to peek at the others' cards, as well. It had been Jolly who finally figured out the "system" being used against them. They had laughed, thrown their cards at the two of them - and had felt more comfortable after that.  
  
But the uncertainty would come at him unexpectedly, too, at times. Starbuck would catch himself feeling comfortable with his sightlessness and suddenly feel angry at himself for giving in. Or giving up, he would think, illogically. But would total blindness not be preferable to partial, reduced vision, taunting him with the memory of what he no longer possessed? His feelings swung the full gauntlet from confidence to depression every day, it had seemed.  
  
The worst had been the day of the tribunal. Both Thals and Norris had pleaded guilty, and their stories that Drizer had been the leader had been accepted. But to determine what their sentences would be for the crimes of sabotage, attempted sabotage, and accessory to attempted termination, the tribunal judges had needed to hear from both the defendants - why had they done this? - and from the victim. So Starbuck had sat and listened to the reasons why two otherwise typical engineering technicians would be swayed to start setting bombs in a ship that was the only home and source of protection they had. Drizer had had a past history of criminal acts, it had turned out, when an extensive check had been done through the computer records, or what remained in the archives of their past lives in the Colonies.   
  
Thals and Norris, though, were just "average citizens" who missed their homeworlds so desperately that they had let themselves believe that crippling the Galactica would have forced the Fleet to settle on the next inhabitable planet. They had never considered any of the consequences or reality of such an act. And they had naively believed Drizer when he had said that the explosions would hurt no one - just disable the ships, first the viper, as a warning, and then the Galactica. The reality, testified the explosive expert, was that, had the second bomb exploded, it could have killed dozens and left the Galactica dead in space, due to a lack of parts to repair her . . .  
  
"Okay, now sit still." Cassie's voice brought Starbuck back to the moment he had longed for -- and dreaded -- over the past secton. He was once more in the Lifestation with his friends, Apollo, Boomer, and Adama, gathered around. Dr. Salik stood ready with his visiscope, waiting to examine his patient once the bandages were removed. He had already warned the lieutenant that his vision would most likely not yet be clear, even if the nerves had fully regenerated. But he would be able to tell how completely they had healed, and whether Starbuck could expect any further improvements in sight - or not.  
  
The lieutenant took a deep breath and held it as Cassie snipped the bandages and gently pulled them off. Next, she removed the two pads that had blocked all light from his optical nerves for the past twelve days. Even though the lights had been dimmed, the flood of brightness made him squeeze his eyes shut. And he kept them that way, unwilling to take the next step.  
  
"Lieutenant," Salik finally said, "You've got to open your eyes, or I can't examine them."  
  
His heart pounding against his chest, feeling more nervous than during his first encounter with the Cylons as a cadet, Starbuck let his eyes flutter open, blinking. The indistinct form of Cassiopeia's face swam in front of him, refusing to focus, then was replaced by Dr. Salik's. For a brief moment, he felt acute panic, and he exclaimed, "Everything's blurry!"  
  
"It's all right," Salik said reassuringly. "At this stage, everything's supposed to be out of focus."  
  
"Oh." He felt his nerves settle . . . a little.  
  
"Okay, tip your head up." Dr. Salik, wearing the visiscope like goggles, eased the other end up to Starbuck's face. The examination took several centons. Another eternity to the lieutenant, who finally realized he had been holding his breath again and let out a long exhale as his lungs protested. At last, the doctor drew back and removed the visiscope.   
  
"Well?" Starbuck wondered if Salik was taking some perverse pleasure in making him wait. He couldn't see the relief on the doctor's face or the smiles on his friend's faces as they interpreted the news before the doctor spoke. He was too anxious to hear Cassie's whispered prayer of thanks.  
  
"Lieutenant," Salik said, "I don't think I'll play Pyramid with you. You seem to have beaten the odds again. You should have full vision back in another day or two."  
A Twist of Fate18  
  



End file.
